


as delicate as rose petals

by wvlfqveen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, arya is the sibling we all deserve, the eternal florist/tattoo artist au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 14:52:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8582656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wvlfqveen/pseuds/wvlfqveen
Summary: Sansa Stark has made a big mistake and is now in a big hurry to fix it.Margaery Tyrell comes to the rescue.





	

**Author's Note:**

> it's 12:36 am and i just realized this was deleted? im so sorry to anyone looking for it i didnt mean to delete it so idk if it was me fucking up without noticing or the website fucking up but.
> 
> anyway, enjoy my favorite gays (again)

"I can’t believe you just reminded me this  _ now _ ,” Sansa said down the phone bitterly, walking fast down the sidewalk and barely dodging passer-by. 

“I can’t believe you fucking forgot in the first place, fam,” Arya replied, the sound of chewing loud in Sansa’s ear. She grunted in disgust.

“Can you chew any louder?,” she hissed, looking out for  _ Tyrell Gardens _ , the only flower place open near her at this hour of the night. Google maps had said it should be close to a Starbucks on Red Keep Avenue, but it was a big street and her feet were getting tired. She had been working all day today.

“I can, as a matter of fact,” Arya said. “Listen, it’s not that big deal, mom will understand. You work at the shop nearly everyday.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Sansa said “it’s Mom’s 50th birthday and I never forget birthdays. I  _ can’t  _ forget this one.”

“Do you have to get her flowers, though? Isn’t that a bit of a cliché?”

“Ooo, fancy word, Arya, gold star,” Sansa quipped. 

“Fuck you,” Arya said happily. “We all already chipped in and bought her and Dad tickets to Greece anyway, what’s the deal?”

“It’s a tradition,” Sansa reminded her. “I always buy her flowers for her birthday. Roses, lilies and orchids.”

Arya sighed down the phone. “It’s your funeral.”

“Thanks for the encouragement,” Sansa said, sighing in relief when she finally spotted the Starbucks and  _ Tyrell Gardens _ beside it. The side was gold-neon which should have hurt her eyes but didn’t, with a huge gold flower on the top right corner. 

“Hey, I reminded you about the flowers in the first place. Be grateful,” Arya said. Sansa rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, I gotta go,” Sansa said.

“Love you, too, hoe,” Arya said and hung up. Sansa pocketed her phone, took a deep breath, and opened the door. 

There was no one at the front desk but all the lights were on so Sansa waited, leaning on the counter to catch her breath. “Anyone here?,” she called out.

“Just a minute,” a sweet voice from deep inside the store replied. Satisfied, Sansa looked around the shop.

It was nothing out of the ordinary for a flower shop, rows upon rows of flowers and arrangements from ceiling to floor and wall to wall. It all smelled incredible and the colours brightened her mood slightly.

“Good evening, welcome to  _ Tyrell Gardens _ ! How can I help you?”

Sansa turned back to the counter and blinked. The most attractive person she had ever seen was standing on the other side, gazing at her with a polite and pleasant expression. They had long, brown hair that hung in waves down their back, and brown, doe-like eyes. Their lips were pulled into a small smirk that made butterflies erupt in Sansa’s stomach.

God, had she really just thought that?

“Uh, hi,” Sansa stammered. “I’m sorry I’m barging in so late but I’m an idiot and I just remembered my mom’s 50th birthday is tomorrow and I really need flowers because it’s a tradition, and….yeah.”

The assistant (“Margaery, she/her” said the badge on the light blue polo) merely blinked at her breathless rant, then grinned. “No worries; you’re not the first or the last, Miss….?”

“Sansa.”

“Sansa,” Margaery echoed. “As in Sansa Stark? The tattoo artist?”

“Yes,” Sansa confirmed, surprised. “How did you know?”

“You tattooed my brother once,” Margaery said. “He described you as a pretty redhead with an old name.”

Sansa blushed at the compliment, but then something clicked. “Wait. Tyrell. You’re Loras Tyrell’s sister? He got that rose tattoo on his ribs?”

“Yes,” Margaery grinned. “It’s kinda our thing.”

Sansa laughed, gazing around the shop. “I kinda guessed.”

Margaery leaned forward, crossing her arms on the counter. She had very long eyelashes.

“Very distinct lack of tattoos for a tattoo artist, though,” she noted, giving Sansa an once-over. Sansa’s skin tingled under the scrutiny. She shook her head, smiling, and took her jean jacket off. 

“No, not really,” she teased as Margaery’s eyes zeroed in on her arms.

Her tattoos always managed to shock people that didn’t know her at all. They all saw the red hair, her polite, goody-two-shoes attitude, and her clothing choices (sundresses or lace bralettes in the summer, tights, peacoats and scarves in the winter) and thought of her as “the nice girl”, the girl-next-door. This was especially true when she was with her sister who was nearly the exact opposite of her in almost all aspects of their lives. At any rate, she didn’t look like a girl that would get a tattoo, much less be on her way to two full sleeves.

But that’s exactly what she was. She had gotten her first tattoo, an open cage with a bird about to take flight on her shoulder right after her big break up with Joffrey, on her 18th birthday. After that the dates all blurred but many followed. The wolf paws with the dates of Aunt Lyanna’s and Uncle Brandon’s passings were placed under the cage, then two wolves running, one on each side of her forearm. On the other arm it was all colour. Her favorite painting,  _ The Kiss _ by Gustav Klimt, took up the underside of her forearm, and various flowers in the shades of the painting covered her upper arm and shoulder. There was also a tattoo on the left side of her rib cage, a tattoo all siblings shared;  _ auribus teneo lupum.  _ They had gotten that one after Bran lost the use of his legs on that car accident he’d gotten in. It had been his idea. Her most recent tattoo was that of the mermaid sitting on a rock and gazing out at the sea on her right thigh, which was currently concealed by her black tights.

“Wow,” Margaery breathed. Sansa felt a burst of pride at the awed look on her face. 

“This one’s my favorite, I think,” Margaery said, pointing at the Klimt painting. 

“It’s my favorite painting,” Sansa informed her, pleased at the compliment. Margaery gazed up at her in fascination.

“Are those all you have?”

“No,” Sansa said. “I have one on my ribs and one on my thigh so far.”

“Aw,” Margaery pouted.

Sansa frowned. “What?”

“I’ll never get to see them,” Margaery explained, an almost sly glint in her eye. Sansa blinked, blushing as the flirting registered. 

“Well,” Sansa started, gathering her courage “you may be able to...eventually.”

Margaery raised her eyebrows. “How, exactly?”

“Well, a dinner date might be a good start, right?”

The other girl grinned. “Sansa Stark, are you asking me out? Just like that? I thought being bold was my thing.”

“I’m full of surprises,” Sansa said. 

“Yeah, I kinda guessed,” Margaery said, gazing at her tattoos again. 

“So, a date? Saturday?,” Sansa pressed, biting her lip. 

“Saturday sounds good,” Margaery agreed. “How does 8 sound?”

“Great,” Sansa said, starting to smile. Margaery mirrored her expression, then jumped slightly. 

“God, I didn’t even get you what you came here for and we’re already going on a date. I’m a horrible person,” Margaery said, looking only a little embarrassed. 

“If you’re a horrible person, then I am, too,” Sansa argued. Margaery shook her head, then stepped around the counter.

“You could never be characterized as a horrible person, Sansa,” Margaery said. “I bet my entire inheritance on it.”

“So sure, are you?,” Sansa asked, teasing. Margaery lifted her chin stubbornly. 

“Yes. Now, what would you like?,” she asked, making a sweeping gesture around the store.

“Could I have a bouquet of purple lilies, white orchids, and white roses, please?”

“Pretty and elegant,” Margaery complimented, ducking behind the counter to grab a pretty, light pink gauze wrapping and a white ribbon for a moment. 

“Tell me,” Margaery said, walking past her to get the flowers “what does your mother look like?”

“A lot like me, actually. I’m like her younger version, according to that side of the family.”

“Then this choice of flowers is very fitting,” Margaery said. Sansa raised an eyebrow.

“Are you indirectly hitting on my mother?”

Margaery gasped in mock-offense. “Me? Never! She would be a good back-up, though,” she murmured, then laughed as Sansa put a hand to her chest in shock.

“I’m kidding,” Margaery said. “She’s slightly too old for me.”

“Slightly,” Sansa deadpanned. Margaery grinned at her, stretching on her tiptoes to grab lilies. 

“How old are your siblings?”

Sansa’s eyes narrowed but Margaery’s expression hadn’t changed. “My oldest brother is 28.”

“Excellent,” Margaery said. Sansa opened her mouth to protect her brother’s honour but Margaery beat her to the punch. “Too bad I’m gay.”

Sansa snorted, shaking her head. “He’s also engaged to a man so you never really had a chance.”

Margaery pursed her lips. “Darn,” she swore. Sansa shook her head again and put her jacket back on. It was starting to get chilly in the store.

“All done,” Margaery said, turning back to her and offering her the bouquet. Sansa took it from her hands, cradling it gently. 

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Thank you.”

Margaery winked and went back around the counter again. “Do you want a little card to write her something to go along with the flowers?”

“That would be nice,” Sansa said. Margaery opened a drawer and rummaged through it for a moment, then produced a small white card. She dropped it in Sansa’s hand.

“Thank you,” Sansa said again, and pulled out her wallet from her purse. “How much do I owe you for this?”

“It’s on the house,” Margaery said, grinning. Sansa shook her head.

“No, no, no, I can’t let you do that. I barged in here so late, you should at least get something out of it.”

“I did get something out it,” Margaery countered. “A date.”

Sansa huffed. “Then, you’re not paying for anything on Saturday,” she said. “I don’t even wanna see a wallet.”

“Bossy,” Margaery noted but she was still grinning. “Fine.”

“Good,” Sansa said, glancing up at the clock in the corner. “It’s getting late and I gotta be at my mom’s house early tomorrow, so, I gotta go.”

The word “goodnight” got stuck somewhere in her throat. Margaery was looking at her, eyes wide and dark. The silence that passed between them felt soft, as delicate as the rose petals under Sansa’s nose.

“Goodnight,” Margaery said after the strange, hushed silence had passed. 

“Goodnight,” Sansa replied and turned to leave, biting her lip.

“Wait!,” Margaery said, grabbing her by her free arm. Sansa turned back eagerly. 

“Yes?”

“I didn’t get your number,” Margaery explained, pulling her phone out from the pocket of her pants under her apron. “Here,” she said, offering her the unlocked phone. Sansa balanced the bouquet on her other arm and typed in her number, adding the dove emoji beside her name.

“A dove?” Margaery asked, taking her phone back and texting her something so Sansa could have her number, too.

“My mom calls me little dove. I got used to it.”

Margaery grinned. “Cute.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Sansa said, smiling. Margaery shook her head, walking her to the exit. She flipped the sign to “closed” and opened the door for Sansa.

“It’s genuinely cute, I swear,” Margaery said. She pushed her bangs out of her eyes and Sansa was struck (again) by how beautiful she was. 

“Goodnight,” she said. It sounded hushed to her own ears.

“Goodnight, Sansa,” Margaery replied, waving at her as she walked back the way she came from. She waved back until Margaery went inside and closed the door behind her. 

A date  _ and _ flowers for her mom. She would have to thank Arya at some point tomorrow. 


End file.
